


Eschaton

by ecotone



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, babysitting during the apocalypse, just before Towerfall, no Destiny 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecotone/pseuds/ecotone
Summary: Two Guardians, two just-Risen, and a patrol during the end of the world.





	Eschaton

The day the Tower falls, it rains. 

“Don’t slip,” Anfisa warns, her heavy boots leaving deep imprints in the mud. Her Mark flutters as she moves, the fabric spotted with rain. 

Behind her, Linh-8 moves deftly, gliding downwards with the practiced ease of someone who’s traveled this path for centuries. Two newly-Risen follow her nervously, white boots stained with mud. One- a Hunter, Gunslinger, maybe- trips, and nearly sends the other tumbling down with him. Linh’s Ghost buzzes at her shoulder. 

“ _Careful,_ ” Linh sighs, static hiding the laughter in her voice. “Don’t want you two reporting back to Zavala covered in mud.” 

They make it to the Divide without any more near-accidents, which Anfisa considers a success. Satisfied, she turns the pair out to kill some shanks and pick up some beacons. Linh makes a beeline for the shed roof as the pair wander away. 

“Walkers today?” Anfisa asks, tossing a grenade down at a pack of Vandals. They hiss and scatter, taking a few potshots up at her perch. 

“None,” Linh replies, neatly finishing off the Fallen below. She glances up at the clouds, her visor streaked with droplets. “Haven’t been any this week, I don’t think. Who knows why.”

Anfisa hums, watching the Hunter try and hit a stealth vandal with his throwing knife, the young Titan next to him watching with her arms crossed. One of the patrol beacons is unlit, now, which means the young ones are probably going to come over soon and ask what a docking cap is and why Holliday needs so many of them. 

Babysitting, Luana always calls it, rolling her eyes- watching over the Traveler’s youngest, making sure they knew where everything is, what they should and shouldn’t do. It’s peaceful, though, Anfisa thinks. After so many centuries, so much loss and death, she can appreciate an easy task.

“Rainy,” Linh says. “It’s strange. I’ve only been here when it snows.” 

Lightning arcs across the sky as she talks, thunder following on its heels. The rain picks up, and Linh shuffles farther back into the sparse cover on the roof like her circuits are going to fry. 

Anfisa stands, waving an arm to catch the Sparks’ attention. “Regroup,” she yells, loud enough to catch their attention across the plain. The pair starts back dutifully, still young enough to not try and push their luck. She drops down off the roof to take cover in the building itself, the rain loud against the metal roof.

Linh follows, sends out a message to the Tower, a warning about the weather, a question about flight conditions. There’s no response, not even from the Frames that catalog all incoming signals. “Traveler,” she says, shaking her head. “This isn’t normal. You haven’t seen this either, right?” 

“I’m not that much older than you,” Anfisa says, swatting at her shoulder. “Anything like this would’ve been talked about years after you woke up.” 

“Reassuring.” Linh-8 waves the new ones in, her Sunbreakers lighting up the dark room, sizzling where the rain hits them. “Alright, children,” she says, sounding more like an Exo commanding her squadron than a tired Warlock talking to a pair of newly-Risen, “We’re going back to the Tower. Patrols should resume after the weather clears.” She ignores the part of her mind that is telling her that the other beacons are unlit, which means that the network is down. 

Both nod, then shuffle a few feet away to talk anxiously. Anfisa watches them, glances over at Linh; Linh stares back, shakes her head. It’s a method perfected over decades of silent conversation, of looks exchanged in the middle of a forest, surrounded by Fallen, of the time at Mare Imbrium where the sky turned to green fire. 

A list of things they both know: something is wrong. The Tower always answers. 

“Ship,” Anfisa says, because they need to take this one step at a time. “Mothyards. Behind the cliffs.” 

“Right. Okay, we’re going back to the ship,” Linh says, startling the Sparks out of their frenzied speculation. “You two, stay in the middle. I’ll lead us back, Anfisa will make sure nothing tries to get the drop on us.” 

It’s a platitude, Anfisa knows- no Fallen would dare attack this many Guardians in this kind of weather. Still, she appreciates the distraction. Protection from an empty threat is still protection.

They walk silently, the two Sparks huddled together in a nervous pile. The ship is where they left it, thankfully, and everyone piles in eagerly. Once she’s in the pilot’s seat, Anfisa pries her helmet off, her hair sticking to her cheeks.

“You remember what Saladin told us, after the Gap?” Linh asks after a few minutes, once they’re in the air and flying eastward. She stares straight ahead, one hand idly tracing figure eights onto her leg. Flames lick at her fingers, crawling down from her bracers. 

“Was it the Gap, or Six Fronts?”

“Both, probably. You know how he gets. If there’s new Light, they need to hear about our duty.” Quietly, so that the young ones will not notice, she checks the comms again. Silence fills her helmet.

(A list of things they both know:  
Something is wrong with the City. There are two of them in this ship, old and stubborn and ready to die for the Tower, to pick a place and fight whatever has come until their Ghosts are smashed and their bodies are Lightless. 

There are also two children here, basically, who can use a gun but are still learning how to summon a grenade without it fizzling out in their hands, who have never been hit with a torch cannon or line rifle and shaken it off, kept going with burns and bullet wounds that heal slowly enough to be uncomfortable but fast enough to be ignored, with enough practice.) 

Anfisa sighs, and from anyone but her it would not sound so shaky. “Saladin was right, I think. About the Gap.” She can still remember the Wards lined up, blooming like violets, her own shield so thick with Light it felt like she was wearing two sets of gauntlets. 

In her gut Anfisa can feel the Tower burning. Defend what’s left, she thinks. At some point this became less about the place and more about the people in it.

“Let’s hope.” 

Below them, the Peak comes into view.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in July but a) I still like it and b) it didn't get totally jossed, so here it is. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments appreciated, as always. <3


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